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The Quindecennial - The 11th Lord
Synopsis A compilation of various stories set in Solaere Blood runs deep, shots even deeper. Strains of red filled my view as the flames hit upon the waves, wood shattered and splintered as I could see the rippled remnants of the moon. It had only been a few days since the quindecennial, the day when the strong cast out the weak, when they sacrifice you to make sure they never devolve into a shadow of their former self. I was unlucky. I was the weak that was cast out. The Hettacat The aroma, thick spices that filled my nose like steel into the gut of a lesser man. It filled me with a euphoira that sent my senses running in circles. Upon my sullen eyes, red velvet and gold flakes dusted my torso, silky robes atop my legs, still tingling slightly. I creaked my neck upwards in my dark room, ten pillars upon each side ladden with gold and silver, with purple cloth bunting off the roof. The walls were covered in paintings depicting dark figures, embroideries showcasing past victories and a statue, made of marble depicting me. The door creaked open, letting light from the bright sun burn my eyes, spots strewn upon my perfect room as a silhouette slowly approachs, brandishing a sword. His voice was deep and Handi and the Tok Bugs, bugs, bugs - do I like bugs? Ant, red and juicy - full of blood. Termites, brown and sticky - Mhm I like them. My nose twitches as I smell the air, the dusty grass caressing my scales. The cloth upon my back, colder then the air I breath. A familiar scent - Ants Ants, red and juicy - full of blood. My toungue stretched out, the flavour spatting upon my buds. Ants, red and juicy - fully of blood. A sudden shuffle, sound in the bushes as I eat - something lurking, something dangerous. I jump, spear in hand - feeling as if it is as strong as the trunk of a tree. I hide, spear in hand - no one can break the bond with me and my spear. A quick snap, followed by a hiss of a snake - an iron bug bent upon my scales rolls down the hills of my back. Nothing remains, but the red pouring down my leg, down the hills of my back. I grab the the cloth upon my back, now colder then my leg, an itch I cannot scratch. It does not feel, I do not feel but I need it to feel. A quick growl, nothing more left but myself and the growl. I lift my spear, the growl growing even louder. The spear is lifted, upon red upon brown upon red, the cloth is ripped off - but not without the furs of my win. Chapter 1 The sun was shining brightly upon the placid waters, the wood of my ship creaked and settled as my crew walked upon its decks. The rope of the crane squeaked as it picked up a large crate, then ended with a large crash as it dropped onto the deck. It had been only